Gears of Troy 3

by Daniel Pierce

  “Fucking ghost weapons or something, too. What a world,” I grunted, as new anger began to boil in me. Everything about this new player was wrong, right down to their means of killing.

  The shouter finally got the attention of a few of his brothers over the cacophony of the others’ incoherent screams. They spun around and fled back up the slope, several of them getting picked off along the way.

  I could barely believe our luck but was also hesitant to get too excited. I had no idea what these surprise visitors wanted. They may have seen us as a similar threat.

  The enemy scouts were still behind us, now desperately trying to climb the canyon wall. One of them even stepped on his brother’s back in his mad race for the top. The stepstool man fell back in response to the kicking and lay on the ground, apparently resigned to his fate.

  I was tempted to let them live, even though they did lead us into this trap, but I was doubtful my friends would feel the same way. I approached them, and the three who remained standing turned, prepared to make their last stand.

  There was not time to converse before one charged me with his little sword. I swatted it away with mine and he stumbled forward, tripping over his own lanky legs. The other two came, and I raised my blade to block one and grabbed the wrist of the second man before he could bring his weapon down on me. Crack. My hand clamped down and his bones broke apart, then I kicked the first guy back and chopped into the side of the other man while still holding his arm above my head. He dropped like a sack of grain, and I lunged back to the one I had just kicked, stabbing him in the chest with a savage forward strike just as he was beginning to regain his balance.

  I turned my attention back to the first guy who attacked me, only to find that he had been taken care of by my men when I was not looking. All that was left was the stepstool scout who was still lying motionless on the ground. I walked over to him.

  “You made a wise decision,” I said. His eyes were closed, and upon hearing my words, he squinted one open and peeked up at me. “Now get the hell out of here.”

  His eyes went wide, clearly unable to comprehend his fortune.

  “Go on,” I insisted.

  The little man jumped to his feet and took off running. One of my Thirians grinned at me and took aim with his bow, but I discouraged the idea with an airy wave of my hand.

  In the distance, the mysterious ranged warriors were descending the slop toward us. There were more of them than I thought—at least twice as many. Some were still posted along the upper edge of the canyon, surely to keep watch if the foreign troops were to return. I was surprised to see that none of them raised their weapons as the scout ran past and eventually disappeared beyond the slope.

  A stunning woman was leading the party coming to greet us. Her hair was black and straight, her eyes green—a beautiful concoction that never failed to hold me rapt. But it was not the color of her eyes that stuck out the most. It was the maniacal look in them—not maniacal in the mad scientist kind of way, but more like in the sense that this woman was capable of anything and was fully aware of that fact. She stopped one pace away from me, closer than most men would be comfortable with when addressing me. I resisted the urge to take a step back. Her allies stood behind her, just out of her arm’s reach.

  “I am called Whistler,” she said with a smile. “I lead this band of warriors known as the Slingers.”

  She waved an arm over the crowd behind her as if she were some gameshow model showing off a fancy new car to the bright-eyed contestants. As far as I could tell, none of these warriors were even thirty years old, most of them appearing to be in their young twenties, and a few of them looking to be even younger.

  “You will tell us who you are now and explain why you are here,” she said. It was not a question, but there was no hint of malice or agitation in the command.

  “I’m Troy. I run a settlement to the south of here called Port Superior. It’s at the tip of the peninsula.”

  “I see. Now tell me why you are here, Troy of Port Superior.”

  “I’ll play. For now. Those men you saved us from—they were attacking allied towns and villages along the coast. We had come to push them back, but their forces outnumbered us. We fought them earlier today but only expected to come across half the men they showed up with.”

  She nodded. “Thrax and his ilk are a cruel people. I have seen them commit many atrocities with their unholy magics.”

  “So, you know of them?” I gasped. “Who are they? What do they want?”

  Whistler shook her head. “Not now—we will discuss this all in-depth later. Take me to your town of Port Superior. I will bring thirty of my Slingers and send the rest back home. We will aid you in this fight against Thrax.”

  I still could not believe our good fortune. Despite our incredible losses, it seemed that we may stand a chance with the help of this odd new girl and her warriors.

  She returned with me to camp, and we packed up and headed out. Many of the troops were not happy with our sudden departure, but they all agreed it would be better than waiting for the enemy to return and clean out the rest of us.

  Whistler and her people did not travel with horses to the canyon, but that was hardly an issue, as we had several to spare after the fighter rendered many of the surviving mounts riderless. Several of my men opted to allow some of the pretty young ladies to share their horses, as long as they promised to hold on tightly—to minimize their chances of falling off, of course.

  Helen joined me on my horse and lent her steed to Whistler, and the Slinger captain rode alongside us for the return journey. The trip back gave us ample time to answer each other’s questions, of which I had many.

  Whistler told me that she was born of nobility, but from whereabouts she would not say. Her family, she said, hid her away for safety. She laughed as she explained this, thinking it ironic in light of all the sticky situations she found herself in of late. Apparently, this was not her first run-in with the men of this Thrax fellow.

  Their homes—she refused to refer to the places as a town or village—were nestled away in the grassy highlands a little further to the north of the rocky canyons. They had been keeping an eye on our enemies over the last handful of days, making preparations to defend against them if they decided to lay siege to the Slingers’ homes. They decided that the trap we had been led into was the perfect opportunity to make themselves known.

  At the mention of the fight, I brought up their weapons, marveling at their ridiculous range. She gave me a prideful grin and pulled her sling from its slip on her belt. To my untrained eye, it looked no different than a whip except for the little pocket-thing at its end. The secret, she said, was the ammunition they made especially for these weapons.

  From a pouch at the other side of her belt, she withdrew a little metal ball. It had all manner of carvings that I could not make sense of. She tossed it to me, but Helen reached out and grabbed it before I had time to react.

  “What do these markings mean?” my queen asked.

  “They mean that those little balls can travel a great distance through the air.”

  “Ah,” she said. “I see. So, they reduce resistance from the air.”

  “Precisely.”

  Whistler explained that they were made mostly of lead with other precious metals, such as copper, sprinkled in to focus the weight in certain places. These metals, she said, were mined by her people in an assortment of highlands caverns known only to them. She explained that this is one reason she was so eager to help us in our fight against Thrax—he was an immediate threat to those secret mines.

  “You know,” Helen interjected, tossing the little copper ball back to the girl, “Master Erion mentioned that he could use more copper. And I am certain he could make use of some other metals as well. Would your people be willing to trade some of your metals, Whistler?”

  “It depends on what for, but that is certainly something we would do. We do trade with coastal towns to the north every so often, with our mai
n export being copper.”

  “This is wonderful news!” Helen was beaming. I knew she was excited at the prospect of finally being able to finish construction of her cannons. “That will certainly go a long way in helping us to finish my own special ranged weapons.”

  “Oh?” Whistler said.

  Helen smirked. “Perhaps we can show you later. A few of them might be finished in the coming days. But . . . would it be too much to trade for some now?”

  “What are you willing to trade?” Whistler asked.

  Helen pulled a pouch from her side, which was filled to capacity with drachmas. “Do you accept this currency?”

  Whistler’s eyes bulged. “Most assuredly. How much are you willing to part with?”

  “How much will all of that bag get us?”

  “I would have to take time to count, but I imagine it would at least fetch you a ton and a half of copper.”

  “Then take the whole bag and fetch us copper with samplings of your other ores, if you will.”

  The girl’s look of surprise did not lessen. It was clear that she was unsure whether Helen was being serious or not, but she called for one of her men to come near and explained the situation to him. She handed him the bag of silver and sent him back to the highlands with instructions for her people to count out the coins and weigh an appropriate amount of metals to ship to Port Superior, which they would find at the tip of the peninsula.

  Helen was ecstatic. She explained that the copper would help the Illium engineers correct the issue with the cannon interface—something about the conductance value of the copper being able to more appropriately mitigate the erratic spasms of electricity set loose on the circuitry every time someone changed cannon parameters. It was a touch magical to me given my roots in physics rather than sorcery, but I was happy that she was happy. It sounded like we would have our weapons soon enough.

  8

  The shipment of ore arrived just before evening the next day. It was a welcome occurrence amidst all the tragedy our settlement had suffered of late. Many of the men had died in the preceding conflict and the settlers we returned to were not taking it well. A lot of loved ones had been lost.

  The King and Queen had sent more men back per our request. These were hardy Trojan warriors, ready for their blades to taste blood. In all, we had about 200 hundred soldiers at our disposal, everyone considered. Whistler told us that her Slingers were 550 strong, and they would join us upon our return to the highlands.

  She offered to accompany Zinni, Helen, and I to Illium as we brought the ore to Master Erion. He almost fell over at the sight of it all, his eyes on the verge of popping from their sockets in the unbridled manner so often associated with fanatical men of science.

  He and his workers set to work smelting the ore to add to the cannon interfaces, explaining that it was far more than they needed but that they could find uses for what was left over on many of their other projects.

  Linos had come with us as well. At every lull in the conversation, he would grab me by the shoulder or elbow and urge me to allow him to take his men back to face Thrax. Whistler had provided enough of a description to identify him, and he was sure that they could get the job done. I had my own reservations about his ideas. The Thirians had a habit of over estimating their battle prowess. They were skilled warriors, sure, but there was no way that a handful of them could take on this army, even if the element of surprise was on their side. I insisted that he and his men wait until the rest of us were ready.

  While we were over by the metal workers, Whistler gave me a high-level rundown of how her lead ammo was crafted. The gifts, as they were called, were not only carved to expertly sail through the air as Whistler had explained before. Their dimples and etchings also allowed the little balls to scream while on the path to their mark. She flung one loose over the grassy field at my left to demonstrate. The noise drew the attention of everyone around, and the metalwork paused for a moment while the workers tried to see who had been hurt. I would admit that my own heart skipped a beat, even though I was warned of the sound. The girl laughed, satisfied with everyone’s reaction. Some of the others rolled their eyes before returning to work.

  The two of us walked to the nearby cliffs overlooking the sea. Helen and Zinni were assisting with the completion of the cannons, and there was not much left for us to do. Linos and Scander and their tribal brothers had set up a campfire and were preparing their evening meals.

  “Thrax is a terrible man,” Whistler said.

  “Please, I’m eager to know more about him.”

  “He uses dark magic to get what he wants. Now that his children are of age, he has been able to multiply that power by bestowing it upon them.”

  “His children? They use this dark magic, too?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She paused and rolled one of her gifts around in between the fingers of her left hand, holding it between us. “There is Nisos, his son.” She hurled the ball into the sea and drew another from her pouch. “He is vicious and cunning. He is nothing like his father, but terrible in his own right. And then there is Silea, daughter of Thrax.” She let loose the second ball.

  I wondered if this Silea was the girl I saw from the strait after we wrecked her ship.

  “She is an adept sorceress and is the one responsible for the spectral mount,” whistler said.

  “Spectral mount?”

  Shock flashed across her carefree countenance. “Yes, Troy. Their horseless chariots. Do you not know?”

  “I’ve seen them, but I truly know nothing about these people,” I said.

  “Well, then I shall tell you.”

  Whistler explained that the spectral mount was more than a vehicle of war. Each one was a living entity, in a sense. More accurately, it was a conglomeration of semi-living entities, a patchwork of almost-souls stitched together, their ethereal energies called upon in unison to do Thrax’s bidding. These souls, Whistler explained, were ripped from the bodies of beings known as Mechanical People, just as they were on the cusp of gaining the essence of humanity. A lot of what she said went over my head, but I got the gist. These Mechanical People seemed, at least to me, to be similar to Helen when I had first met her, an android seeking her freedom from the preprogrammed shackles of her masters in Egypt.

  Whistler told me of a tragedy involving Thrax’s son and one of these Mechanical People. It was well-known that Nisos used to be a soft-hearted boy. One day he fell in love with a beautiful mechanical woman, but their relationship was doomed to fail from the start. When Thrax discovered what his son was up to, he took the woman and had her publicly executed, channeling her lifeforce into his own chariot. Nisos had never been the same, and was now always in a rage. These days, it took nothing for him to kill an innocent passerby—a misinterpreted glance, a failure to acknowledge the Prince’s presence, or simple boredom. All such actions or inactions were the cause of many senseless deaths at Nisos’s hands over the past few years.

  “Together,” Whistler continued, tossing a third gift to the sea below, “they form what is known as The Trio.”

  The pieces were finally beginning to fall into place. The Trio. These were the people the mercenary spoke of at Teucer’s estate. I finally had names. The picture was becoming clearer.

  “And what do they want exactly?”

  “The same thing all the corrupted people of the world want, Troy. Power. Land. Riches. They are what happens when bad people are allowed to take control. They have a major foothold in Thrace and are always looking to expand their domain. It seems that your beloved peninsula has been on their radar of late.” She laughed. “There are those who believe that Thrax is a son of Ares. I do not believe such lies. He is merely a man who knows a little magic and is good with a spear. I hear he uses special short spears to aid him in battle. I suppose they help his range like my gifts here, but it is no matter. I do not fear the man.”

  “You don’t? You’re not at least a little concerned about his magic? I saw one of his own men die
instantly from some spell—at least I think that’s what I saw. I can still barely make sense of it.”

  She grinned, handing me a gift. “I, too, have certain magical abilities. My connection to the spirit world gives me little cause for concern over the man. Perhaps I can show you what I mean sometime soon.”

  I chucked the lead ball into the sea. “Sure, I’d be interested to see what you mean.”

  Master Erion called for us not long after the sun set. He had taken an interest in several of the sample ores we had brought with us and was wondering if we could return to Whistler’s highlands for more so that he could study them. We were happy to oblige and set out within the hour.

  9

  Whistler and I arranged to travel to the highlands, just as a pair. We did not plan to stay longer than it took to gather the ore and fill her people in on the latest developments. She assured me that she would be able to round up more of her people to bring the load back with us. Helen and Zinni stayed behind in Illium to add the final touches to the cannons.

  The two of us rested on the boat to Port Superior. Once we touched down, I scrounged up another bag of silver and handed it over before we took our leave for the highlands. Whistler insisted we only take one horse, seeing no need to waste two for the trip.

  Her hands gripped my waist more firmly than I would have thought necessary. She pulled herself close, and the smell of her skin filled my senses with spice and something at the edge of my recognition, like a fading memory made new by her closeness. I knew of nothing to compare it to, much like Whistler herself. Her chest rubbed against my back as the horse carried us along, and after a while she let one of her hands drop to my lap, casually leaving it there for a time while her other arm still held her close to me.